Cage and Song

Mona the Evoker

The woods' soil was covered in litterfall, and tree roots and shrubs dotted the course of the ascent, among rock outcrops and fallen logs. On level ground they would have been a nuisance, but on that steep climb they served as handholds to secure Mameco's progress. It took about forty minutes of dedicated climbing before the branches opened up and the Bard found himself atop the promontory, rock giving way to empty air and rocky sea hundreds of feet below, and in front of him, nested dizzyingly close to the rock's edge, was a birdcage the size of a house. It was a work of art in the shape of a prison, long brass tubes snaking and crisscrossing in filigrees and arabesques to form a vast structure roughly shaped like a pumpkin. Inside, tubes of electrum weaved to form the structures that made the birdcage a house: tables, chairs, chests and armoires, hangers, perches and chandeliers. A few artifacts of other materials decorated the birdcage too, such as mirrors and colorful silks, and plant life inundated the construction like the whole of it was a garden. There were countless shrubs holding juicy, glistening berries, flowers of all colors one could picture, ivies climbing the walls and bars and giving life to the very metal. And, separating that masterwork from the outside world, there was a lock of electrum. And a key hanging from the outside, formed of intricate electrum wires surrounding a brass tuning fork. Regardless of how mesmerized he was by the birdcage itself, though, the Bard was pulled from his trance by the voice sounding on his ears.

– You are not the prince. – It was like a morning breeze sneaking through the most delicate of windchimes. A soprano so pure and clear Mameco half expected the siren to be made not of flesh and bone, but crystal and water.

But she was flesh and blood, and she was looking at him from atop an electrum perch, about seven feet from the ground. Her hair was a cascade of honey curls framing both a sharp and delicate face with eyes the color of ice, and a petite body stealthily hidden by a lace dress of pastel greens and blues. She held a beauty both demure and celestial, delicate like a flowerbud. He could briefly see, disappointed, that her bare legs were like a great kingfisher's before a pair of blue and yellow wings flapped and she fluttered to the cage's door. The Bard mumbled incoherently for a moment, but at last was able to declare. – They said you were beautiful, but I had no idea.

The siren kept silent for a moment. She seemed puzzled, and Mameco could guess the prince came to watch her against her will, and she was probably uncertain of his intentions. – Forgive me. I am Mameco, the Bard of Galia. Your friend Magnolia told me of your situation and sent me to you.

Mona's eyes widened momentarily and she flew away from the door. – My friend Magnolia sent me a Bard. You are not from Polasso, are you, Mameco? Are you aware of what you are getting yourself into?

– Beauteous maiden, worry not for me. My voice can rend the heart and sweep the mind. The powers that be never could stand in my way, and this certainly shall not be the prince who first does.

– That rings true. Such is the voice of the children of the land, is it not? You sing to the mind. Sounds like a difficult power to use responsibly.

– I would not have been granted it had I not the wisdom to use it. How did you come to earn the prince's ire, beautiful Mona? You don't have the face of one who brings ships to ruin.

The siren fluttered a few yards to the side, behind a silken curtain, going to sit on a swing. – The children of the air sing to the skies and to the seas, but our songs are long and emotional, and it is difficult not to sing our feelings.

– A damsel should not be expected to keep firm control of her heart. It is merely unfortunate that you would receive such vast power without the requisite self control.

The swing creaked behind the silk curtain, and Mameco could only picture the expression on the poor woman's face. – Were I to leave this place, what end do you picture Polasso having?